


Entangled

by IShouldBe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunken magic, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBe/pseuds/IShouldBe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No doubt, she'd been showing off obscure spells she found in the archives, again. Apparently, she did that whilst drunk. Hermione never yet had any memory of it.</p>
<p>SS/HG HEA...Always :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

So yes, I should be writing lots of other things. And yet, here I am… I was a good little writer and got my word count in. Then this fell out of fingers. I'm blaming Severus Snape...

Oh and this started off with the 'sending a patronus whilst drunk' trope, but, as this is Hermione Granger, she had to go one better. Which means this fic is not the short little one-two shot I was expecting *sigh*

Mostly M for language at the minute.

* * *

**Entangled**

Hermione groaned. She pressed a hot, sweating hand to her forehead and her groan deepened. She was not drinking again. Never. Never  _ever_. Stampeding hippogriff hooves couldn't thunder as loud as the pounding in her poor skull.

She opened bleary eyes and her bedroom ceiling swam into view. She'd –somehow— made it home. She frowned. Most of the night was as blurred as her vision.  _Fuck_.

They'd been out somewhere in Soho, some club Ron and Harry had stumbled across as apprentice Aurors. Good food, great music and a hot dance floor… Hermione wiggled her toes and pain lanced across the arches of her feet. It gripped her calves and forced an ache through her thighs. Yes, obviously a great deal of dancing. She'd danced…with a man. Wrapped herself around him and had Ron spitting out his tequila in disbelief.

Staid and dusty Archive Apprentice Hermione Granger did not do a  _fantastic_  impression of Devil's Snare. But from what she could remember, this man had been worth the wasted shot. Tall, dark and an accented voice so deep it was somewhere in his boots.

She craned her neck to the side, found her bed empty and huffed out a sour laugh. Last time she was in that position—

Hermione closed her eyes and willed away the images, the sensations, the feeling… "Fuck." She sat up, denying the memories and her world lurched. She flopped back into the softness of her pillows and fought the rising nausea. What had she been doing? What had she been  _drinking_? Every inch of her ached. Naturally, she didn't get to pull every muscle because of wild and rampant debauchery. It was never her luck.

She was twenty one. Young, free and most definitely single. Very single.  _Morbidly_  single. So why in the name of Circe's left tit, wasn't there a tall, dark, accented man lounging about on her rumpled sheets, suggesting they have another go? Because—she huffed out a hot breath—because there was only one tall, dark,  _velvet_ -voiced man she wanted in her bed.

And she'd had him. For one, blissful,  _blissful_  night…before it all turned to shit.

Hermione pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and welcomed the pressure. She would not suffer another day of mooning over Severus Snape. He'd made his interest in her clear: A good fuck and no, I won't stay for breakfast. Her mouth twisted. The bastard had run from her flat whilst she was in the bathroom. Not a word. Nothing. And not a word since, either.

She breathed against the hollow ache in her belly. She'd managed to admit to herself that she'd spent too long in the bathroom that morning. Hiding. Panicked. So unsure of how to proceed. Thick with elf-made wine, propositioning him had been easy. But in the morning light and blisteringly sober, she could hardly just fall back into bed with him.

Standing in the bathroom doorway and staring at her empty bed, scourified of every hint of…them, had made her decision for her.

Hermione dug her toes into the rug set beside her bed and willed away the burn in her eyes. Six months and thoughts of him still stabbed at her. Why had she thought it such a good idea to satisfy her insane schoolgirl crush?

_Because it's not a crush._

She swore, ignoring that irritating voice in her head. The one that said she should put on her Gryffindor knickers and owl him. Find out why he left. Either he would be interested, or she could get a seal on her uncertainty and move on. She was twenty one. She shouldn't be hung on a miserable bat of a man twice her age. She shouldn't have  _him_  as her only moment of bliss.

She was fucking Hermione Granger. War hero. Wizards fell over their tongues for her—

She winced at that image. She wasn't Ron, a young man happy to play up his fame to pull a plethora of witches into his bed. She'd always believed she'd needed more —which was why she'd never fallen for Ron's less than pleasant hints to fuck when they were hunting horcruxes. Severus had… Damn it, she had to face her wants, her needs, so another wizard could provide them. But who had that voice, that stunning intelligence and could combine the two to make her tremble, make her come by those assets alone?

And he had. At the awful Ministry New Year ball, when she'd sidled up to him and flirted. Badly. The scent of cloves and cedar caught her in their dark little corner, the heat of his body surrounding her, driving away all thought of anyone else. And his words. His promises. With simply his smooth, warm lips at the shell of her ear he'd brought her to a blistering orgasm.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and pushed herself away from her bed. Hangover Potion and a shower. Then a slow Sunday morning. Maybe coffee and cake from the café on the corner. Definitely nothing too taxing.

She shuffled to the bathroom, feeling grubby and sore. She'd slept in her clothes. Which meant she'd been completely wasted. And she felt drained. She hadn't flashed magic in front of muggles, had she? That would hardly go down well on the night they celebrated Harry and Ron's induction as fully qualified aurors.

It was unlikely. A flurry of letters would already be battering her. No doubt she'd been showing off obscure spells she found in the archives. Apparently, she did that whilst drunk. She never yet had any memory of it.

She stared into the bathroom mirror. Hungover Medusa stared back at her. Had she been crying the night before? Her eyes were red and swollen. Nothing more appealing than a miserable drunk. Wonderful.

She washed away the worst of the smeared makeup and fumbled in the cabinet for a vial of Hangover Potion. She made her own. Well, she had for the past six months. Severus had patented his cure and she couldn't face the sinuous and combined Ss on the label. Her cure was fine –not as good as his, naturally— but it took care of the worst of her hangover. With a slow day and not much movement, she'd be fine by Monday.

Her wards pinged and she choked on the vile potion. Coughing, she stumbled from the bathroom. Harry didn't get hangovers. Bastard. And he thought it great fun to visit her, as she most definitely did.

She yanked open her door. "Harry Potter, you great git, you can just fu—"

She stared. Her mouth fell open.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

Hermione blinked. What in the name of Merlin's saggy ball sack was Severus Snape doing on her doorstep?

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

She stumbled back. Her face burned. She knew she looked a sight. Crumpled clothes, face half shining, half smeared with old make-up. Her eyes red and swollen. Her hair. Gods above, her  _hair_.

Wasn't she supposed to look spectacular when confronting an ex? Did one night count Severus as an ex? And why did he have to look like…him? Tall, immaculate, hair shining, his eyes so black she could simply sink into them—

"May I come in, Miss Granger?"

_Miss Granger_. The title stabbed at her and her hand tightened around the door handle until the metal bit into her palm. "What do you want?"

His dark eyes held her, revealing nothing. "This is an…everyday building. It would be best if our discussion were not overheard."

Hermione pursed her lips and stood back from the door. The corridor beyond was empty and quiet. But Severus was right. She lived in a muggle building. They could hardly discuss magic on her doorstep.

She closed the door behind him and resisted the need to bang her head against it. Hard. Fuck.  _Fuck_.

He disappeared into the kitchen. Of course he knew the way. He'd fucked her on her kitchen counter. She closed her eyes. Taken her virginity right there.

She followed him, her heart pounding, her stomach churning over the remnants of sour alcohol still in her system. Her headache cut at the corner of her thoughts. Shit. She should've stuck with Severus' potion and her sensitive feelings be damned. His cure worked. Completely.

Hermione stood in the doorway, her nerves shredding. His presence filled the space and his scent, his scent twisted around her stupid heart. She should offer him tea or coffee…but she'd offered that last time. And found herself on the end of the most fantastic kiss—

"Why are you here?"

She flopped into the small couch squashed into the corner of her kitchen and willed herself to glare up at Severus. He dominated the room, so impossibly tall, and fitted in an expensive, black muggle suit. He looked every inch the successful –and rich— businessman he now was. He was delicious. Hermione hated him.

"Are we alone?" He lifted a dark eyebrow and his mouth dipped into a sneer.

Bastard. He was assuming that, as she'd been drunk, she'd dragged a man back to her little  _boudoir_. In that hot moment, she wished she had. Hermione tamped down on her anger. She didn't care what he thought. Not one bit. "I have other things to do." She waved her hand. "So if you could hurry along…"

Her words faded. Severus loosened his tie and his long, clever fingers were already unfastening the buttons on his shirt. Shit. Was she still asleep? Was this some bizarre dream, where she got  _exactly_  what she wanted?

He pulled his shirt open. "I'm here, Miss Granger, because of this."

Scored into his chest was a rune. It gleaned gold against his pale skin. Hermione stood and her fingers inched towards it. It dragged at her. She ached to touch it, to trace her fingers over the smooth, intersecting lines and the strange circle they formed. Old,  _ancient_  magic pulsed beneath it. The taste of it almost familiar on her tongue.

"What is it?"

"You don't know?"

She frowned at him. "Why should I?"

His eyes narrowed on her, his lips thinning. "You put it there."

Hermione blinked. "What?" She stepped back. "No. I…I couldn't have. I was here. And before that I was out. With friends."

But she was drained and aching, her magic low. What the hell had she done? What arcane spell had she woven in the night to put that rune on his chest? Her head was thudding again. She couldn't  _think_. "Why do you believe it's me?"

Severus buttoned up his shirt and a heavy stone settled in her belly. No longer being able to see his skin or the rune, she didn't know but she damn well missed  _something_. "Just before dawn, I saw you in my room." He tightened and straightened his tie. His jaw was clenched and something moved in the darkness of his eyes. "You approached my bed. You didn't respond to my questions, my demands. Instead, you pressed your hand to my chest." His brows drew together. "When I awoke, I came here."

"I…"

"You're apprenticed to the Ministry Archivist, are you not?"

"Yes…?"

"Have you seen anything resembling that symbol?"

"I…"

Oh. Fuck.

Hermione's knees gave out and she sank back onto her little couch. Fuck.  _Fuck_. This was bad. So  _very_  bad.

"What is it, Miss Granger?"

Anger threaded through this words, his rich voice suddenly hard and cold. She closed her eyes and fought to find even breaths. No.  _No_. She was never drinking again. Never.

"Friday…" Her voice cracked on the word and she swallowed, her mouth suddenly parched. Her attention fixed on the bloodless knot of her fingers set in her lap. "Friday afternoon, Master Wyman had me cataloguing a cache of manuscripts from a muggle stately home in Northumberland. Aurors were called in when one of the owner's grandchildren set off a magical surge. They impounded the books…and anyway, Master Wyman was charged with identifying them.

"Viking. Ninth century. Rune magic, but mirroring something much older. Possibly Babylonian."

"Go on."

Hermione drew in a strengthening breath. He would hate her. "It's a betrothal seal."

"A  _what_?" His question was a raw whisper.

"A Viking derivation of a Babylonian betrothal seal. Severus—"

"How is it removed?"

Her heart twisted. What had she expected? That he would want to be bound to her? That he would throw his arms around her and declare that it had all been a misunderstanding and that he lov— cared for her? This was Severus Snape. He had loved and did love only one woman. And she'd been dead a long time. "I'm not sure." She wet her lips. "I have no memory of performing the spell. None. I'm sorry."

"My fiancée will not be pleased."

Hermione's stomach dropped. Fiancée? She mouthed the word. There'd been no whisper of it in the press…and it was something that would be splattered across the front of every paper. Severus Snape –the wizarding world's dark and lonely prince— finding love again was big news. Huge. But when…?

She pressed her hand to her mouth and her stomach roiled. She hadn't been some cheap thrill had she? "Did you…? Where you already betrothed when you…with me?"

Severus frowned. "It is a…recent engagement. Not widely known."

Her heart drummed, mixing with the increased pounding in her head. Hideous, horrible day. Fuck. She simply wanted to crawl back into her bed and start again. Perhaps she'd find that thin sliver of hope, the one that gave her the belief that there could've been something else, something more between herself and Severus. Had she missed her chance through cowardice? If she'd owled him the next day, week, month would he have—

Hermione cut out her useless thoughts. Her chance was gone.  _He_  was gone, even as he stood there glaring at her. She shoved down the old pain and pushed herself to her feet. Too late, she found her Gryffindor courage. "Let me get showered and dressed. The wards on the Archives will admit me. I can't remove the manuscripts, but I can make notes. Where should I meet you?"

"You don't understand." Anger sparked in his eyes and she had to look away. "When I said I came here, it wasn't through choice."

"You're…?"

"Very much stuck with you, yes, Miss Granger."

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

The corridors of the Ministry were echoingly empty.

And even with a hot July in London beating down on the rest of Whitehall, the dark-tiled passages were chilled. Their footsteps drummed and it was too much like her Fifth Year. Her heart was beating just as hard, certainly. She should be thankful there was no Dolohov to rip open her chest…though Severus Snape was giving it a good go at raking in emotional scars.

She almost snorted against her own melodrama. It was definitely time to put on her Gryffindor knickers. The big ones. With the re-enforced gusset. She bit her lip to deny a smile. Yes. That gave her a much better frame of mind.

All too soon, she stood before the great doors of the Ministerial Archives. Every written word, hieroglyph were stored there. Her Master had hinted that there was even archive space for petra— and geoglyphs. Hermione had often wondered if the Archives held a copy of Severus' own amended  _Advanced Potions_  book.

She stared up at the dark wizard. His face in the low light was cold and unreadable. Her palms started to sweat. "I don't know how to take you past the wards. I'm an apprentice of two years standing. Hardly any time—"

"I am magically bound to you."

"Yes, of course." She twitched a smile, found no response, and turned her attention to the doors. She would confess to her Master first thing on Monday –he hated to be disturbed on a Sunday— and take her punishment. Hopefully, he wouldn't break her contract, as Master Wyman had said she was very promising. She was taking a vow never to drink again, regardless. "Here goes."

She flicked her wand, finding the intricate patterns that drew a passage through the wards. The air shimmered and her skin prickled at the opening of the space. "I should…" She grabbed his hand, linking her small fingers through his long ones. "Just…just in case."

Magic sparked over her skin, hot and sweet. Hermione sucked in a quick breath to deny the sudden surge of joy that bloomed in her chest. There was no corresponding rune on her skin. She'd made certain of it in the shower, rubbing till her skin was raw. Nothing gleamed.

Hermione stepped forward and Severus followed with no hesitation.

The doors opened before her and she led the way through to her little office. Stale air moved as the great doors slowly thumped back into place, but the wards didn't stir. She let go of a hot breath, released his hand, opened her office door and closed it behind Severus.

A flick of her wand lit the lamps scattered about the heavily shelved room. Hermione loved her little office. Books surrounded her each and every day. So much knowledge, there for her to rediscover… As long as she stopped being a lush.

The Viking manuscripts that held the offending spell lay under a protective charm on her broad desk. "How are your ancient runes?"

He fixed narrowed eyes on her. "Passable."

Hermione conjured a chair for herself –Severus had already taken hers— and settled into it. "Only an employee of the Archive can touch or work magic over the documents. So let me know when you need to turn a page."

It didn't take long for them to find the spell. Hermione had only started work on it late Friday afternoon, after all. The properties of the spell were written in an ornate and obscurely referential language and not particularly helpful. The actions and incantation were equally indecipherable. Except to her. When she was drunk.

Rereading offered up the idea that the betrothal seal was meant to punish or reward the witch and wizard. Or both at the same time, which was confusing. But then who knew what a Viking interpretation of a Babylonian rite actually meant? It bound them, caught, tethered them in time and place. How twisted was this spell? And it was her drunken luck that had her casting it.

"So.  _Vefja Seior_." Hermione sank back into the soft padded leather of her chair and ignored the little sting in her palms as she murmured the Norse words. "The Entangling Spell. It appears that a witch identifies her betrothed and presses her…flesh to his, forming a betrothal rune. To seal it…to seal it involves sex."

Her face was on fire and she couldn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the smooth sheets of bound vellum. "To break it…?" She wiped her hand across her mouth. Her lips were dry and she ached for tea. "Have you uncovered anything?"

"No mark appears on the witch. Norse wizards  _needed_  to be tethered, it seems."

Hermione snorted. Her humour cooled. It wasn't a joke. "What would dissolve this," she waved her hand between them, "this essential nearness."

"Intimacy."

Hermione swallowed, hating how he warmed the word. "But then that would force the marriage." She huffed a laugh. "It's well named as an Entangling spell. It curves back in on itself."

Severus swore. Something hard and bitter and possibly in Sumerian. "I think we've uncovered all we can from this."

He stood and Hermione hastily recast her protective charm. He grabbed her hand and hauled her through the public area of the archives, around desks and cabinets as if  _he_  could see the path twisting through the still-open wards.

"Open the door, Miss Granger."

After a series of intricate flicks, they were once more outside the slowly closing doors. He released her hand.

"Now I will return to your flat. You are to remain here for ten minutes. When that time has elapsed, you may follow. Understood?"

Her mouth thinned. "Thank you for talking to me like a two year old. What is going on?"

"I am testing a hypothesis."

And he was gone, striding away down the corridor, effortlessly elegant.

Hermione caught her fingers in her hair and tugged at the roots. Damn the man. She eased her fingers free and stared at her watch. Was it really only ten o'clock? So much for her lazy Sunday morning. She sighed, found the wall and sank down to the floor. Her headache lingered, pinched at the corners of her brain and she wanted hot, milky tea and her bed. And knew she would get neither.

The minutes ticked away. Her palms tingled. It had to be with the memory of grabbing his hand. Nothing more. Or was it the Entangling spell? She had no urge to run after him. No biting compulsion. Was that all on the wizard's side, like the betrothal rune? They were betrothed.  _Betrothed_. The illicit word rolled around in her thoughts, edging away the pain of her headache. Her tethered wizard.

Her mind skittered away from that image. Of Severus Snape tied to her bed and at her mercy…

Heat flushed her and she glared at her watch. Time was up. She struggled to her feet and padded back to the Atrium. She hated travelling by floo, but frankly she was too tired to disapparate. And it would give Severus more time with his hypothesis. Whatever it was.

The Atrium loomed, dark and empty and her skin pricked. Somewhere the aurors worked on a shift, but she'd never seen them. She had the sneaky suspicion they 'worked from home'.

Grabbing a handful of floo powder, she threw it into the roar of green flame, took a deep breath and called out her home address. The network took her, spinning her and she fought to stop her poor stomach from rebelling. Walls and fireplaces spun past, until she burst out and staggered into her own front room. She lurched into a wingback chair, wincing as it caught her already aching thigh.

Her shaking hand syphoned away the soot and she sank gratefully into her chair.

"There you are." Severus leaned in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Here I am," she muttered. "You haven't put the kettle on, have you?" She gave a soft laugh. "You know that tea solves everything."

"If only." And he was gone.

Hermione willed herself to her feet and shuffled her way into her kitchen again. Her teapot sat on the table, with mugs and a jug of milk. The thick scent of bacon sandwiches was a delight and a horror to her churning stomach.

"Here." Severus offered a vial of his own Hangover Potion. "You can hardly stand. Take it."

He was being thoughtful and kind. Hermione wanted to scream at herself for letting him escape. She might not have had any chance, but she was a first class idiot for not trying. "Thank you."

Her fingers brushed his and that hot little tingle sparked again. Ignoring it, she knocked back the potion and vanished the vial. Relief spread through her with a speed she hadn't felt in months. Her head cleared and some of the weary ache in her flesh dissipated. Not that she was a complete lush, but she often found herself out at the weekends with a set of friends who'd lived and fought through a war and were still very happy to celebrate surviving.

She sat and poured tea for them both. Sunlight lit the scrubbed tabletop and it was nice not to squint in pain. She inhaled a sandwich. "So, what has this ten minutes –or slightly longer— proven?"

Severus picked up a mug, frowning at the vivid orange of the Chudley Canons emblazoned around the white ceramic.

"Ron," she said, with a shrug. Her gaze fixed on her own tea and she stirred a spoon through it, counting the rotations to calm herself. They'd never got around to tea before… "A moving in present. I don't have the heart to kill them with fire."

"This betrothal seal." His voice was low, sure, but there was an edge to it that formed a fist in her chest. "It was meant to act in retrospect."

Hermione's mug clanked to the table. A harsh "Fuck" broke from her. "You…"

Severus had deflowered her. In a time before the invention of contraception charms or potions, keeping a line pure, knowing who sired a child was of the utmost importance. And this spell offered reparation for the deflowered one. Bound her to her wizard, either as a punishment or through  _her_  desire. The wizard couldn't escape his duty. Time didn't matter. This spell worked with time, twisted it, made time work for  _it_.

It  _wasn't_  a betrothal seal. It was so much more complicated than that. But in one respect it was very,  _very_  simple.

"I'm Mrs Severus Snape." Hermione pressed a trembling hand to mouth. "And I have been for the past six months."

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

This is a little shorter, sorry, but it was the natural break.

I also got distracted by a 'Hermione is an apprentice' bunny. Nasty, twitchy little thing...

* * *

She pushed her mug away from her and willed her gaze to meet his. "I'm so sorry, Severus. I never meant any of this to happen. And you'd found…" She swore softly and gritted her teeth.

He had a life. A woman he  _loved_. Her drunken spell had ruined everything. For herself. And for him. Especially him.

Hermione's thoughts twisted in on themselves, as entangled as the insane spell she'd cast. She couldn't see a way out. None. Her brain was blank. Useless. Her eyes burned and she hated that she wanted to cry. This was all her fault and she didn't know how to solve it. "I…I don't know what to do."

Severus sat back in chair. He offered no comfort, his eyes distant as he gazed out of the long, kitchen window. She fixed her gaze on his familiar profile and shoved down the need to trace his hawkish nose with her fingertip. He'd smiled when she did that in the grey dawn six months before, with the sheets tangled and hot around their tired bodies... She snatched a tear from her cheek and swallowed, fighting against the lump in her throat. "Severus...?"

He looked to her, his black eyes unreadable as always. "It's obvious that I am no longer compelled. If I ever truly was. I experienced a severe...need to be near you. To meet with you. Naturally, I made the assumption that it was a localised binding. It had that feel. The raw and increasing burn. I ignored it for half an hour. Then I let it take me." He fixed his attention on the table and traced a slow, deliberate finger around the thick rim of his mug. "I left you in the Ministry, a deliberate turning away from the one who bound me. I shouldn't have been able to move beyond the end of the corridor. To floo away, to break from you, again impossible." He sighed. "You'd said the spell turned in on itself." He shrugged and a bitter smile tugged at his mouth. Hermione ached to smooth it away, ease over the lines biting into his cheek. "It became obvious it was something much more complicated than a simple compulsion spell."

His voice was still calm, still sure, but she could sense an undercurrent. Something fierce and angered. "Is this binding recognised in law? Can we simply ignore it?"

A soured laugh escaped him. "Ancient magic that bends  _time_  to its will, power runes and taken virginity? What do you think?"

He was right. It was more fixed, had more power poured into it than a Ministry-approved marriage. She wanted to say that he could still see his fiancée, that she wouldn't interfere…but that would make the witch he loved, the witch he  _would_  have taken as his wife, little more than a mistress. Someone side-lined. It wasn't her right to make a comment. That was between the two of them.

Her gut twisted. Hard. Suddenly,  _having him_  was so much worse.

"What happens now?" She wrapped her chilled hands around her mug. "What do we do?"

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "We carry on as we were."

Hermione blinked. She pressed her lips together. "Of course."

Had she thought he'd invite her to his new home, Thorfinn Rowle's former rambling pile on Orkney? Was his fiancée already installed? Was she aware? Gods had she  _been there_  when Hermione's astral self had fixed the rune to Severus' chest?

Hermione pushed herself to her feet as Severus started to rise. "I don't know what else this Entangling Spell could force on us." She knotted her fingers, holding them against her stomach. "I'll work on the manuscript, research around it. I'll try to head off any more surprises."

"You do that."

"I  _am_  sorry, Severus." She wet her dried lips. "I will have to inform my Master about," she waved nerve-strained fingers, "all of this. I will be as circumspect as I can."

Severus drove his fingers into his hair and for a moment, she caught the frustration, the almost desperate twist to his features. He closed his eyes and she wanted to hold him. His long thick lashes were a sooty curve against his cheeks and the ache to place butterfly kisses to the closed lids and promise him anything. Promise that she'd be a good, rarely seen wife—

"Break this, Miss Granger. For both our sakes. Find a way."

With a half turn, he vanished, leaving the sharp crack of his disapparation ringing in her ears.

Hermione's shoulders sagged and she scrubbed her hands across her face. Merlin save her, how could her day get any worse?

She dropped her dishes into the sink and cracked out one of Molly's standard spells. Bed. Sleep. But first, she had to owl Master Wyman. If they'd broken the spell, she could've waited…but there was no telling what the insanity of her…her bond would do.  _Bond_. That's what it was. She couldn't call it a marriage…

And so an hour and three mugs of tea later, she'd drafted an apologetic note and offered enough mortifying personal details to have her cheeks burn when she next met her Master face-to-face. She'd stressed her concern for Severus' privacy and that any deserved reprimands not include reference to him.

She'd have to use Ginny's owl, one of the drawbacks of living muggle. People tended to notice an owl in a flat. Taking a deep, calming breath, she threw floo powder into her fireplace, squatted down and called out Ginny's name. Hermione hoped she still had a position in the Archives come Monday morning.

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

This fic will get a little angsty before we get to the HEA. I promise, everything will very much SS/HG HEA. I do not deny happiness for my OTP :)

* * *

Ginny flopped back into her chair and rewrapped her dressing gown. Her hair was shiny and wet, her fingers wrinkled. Hermione had little doubt her friend had been in the bath for at least two hours.

The professional Quidditch season had finished the week before, and Ginny had a fortnight off. Before training and summer friendlies kicked in. She made the most of the time by excessive pampering.

"It's before noon on a Sunday. Are you on fire? Lost a limb?"

Hermione snorted. "All of the above. I need to borrow Methuselah. I have an urgent message for Master Wyman. Then I'm burrowing into my bed for the rest of the day."

"Come through."

Hermione drew herself out of the fire, strengthened the floo with another shot of powder and called out her destination. She twisted through the network, but with Severus' potion fortifying her, the wild ride did little to unsettle her.

Ginny had called her owl –a grey, sour-faced eagle owl— and he was hunched on his stand. Yellow-ringed eyes glared balefully at Hermione as she staggered from the fireplace. Methuselah was a gift from Draco Malfoy, Ginny's latest beau, though he'd been somewhat miffed when she'd chosen the crotchety bird over something more…him.

"Something urgent?" Ginny offered her the owl treat bowl.

"Do you really want me to go into the details of a Viking-mirrored Babylonian enchantment?"

"I might…"

Hermione lifted an eyebrow and Ginny snorted.

"No. You're right."

Hermione offered the bad-tempered owl a juicy mouse haunch to sweeten him before she risked attaching the sealed scroll to his leg. "Please take this scroll to Master Diogenes Wyman." She glanced back at Ginny. "And can any reply please come directly to me?"

Ginny nodded at Methuselah. "Do as she asks."

The bird eyed the bowl of treats in Hermione's hand and gave an indignant hoot.

Hermione laughed. "Yes, these treats will be waiting for you." Methuselah clacked his black beak, shook out his feathers and soared out of the open sitting room window. "And I think that's a yes from him too."

She caught her fingers in her hair, wanting to ignore the fierce and tight twists in her belly. She watched the owl as it swooped over the long garden and soared into the bright summer sky. How was she going to solve this? She'd taken Severus' life and destroyed it in one drunken night.

"Hermione? You look like shit. Tea? Chocolate?"

She sank into a deeply padded chair and let herself breathe for a moment. She couldn't do anything else until she had her Master's reply. "I've had about a gallon of tea this morning. So no, but thanks."

"Well…?" Ginny leant forward in her chair. "What about Davin Tabor?"

Hermione frowned. "Who?"

Ginny snorted. "That wizard last night. You practically shared a permanent sticking charm."

Hermione scrubbed at her face. "I am not drinking again, Gin. Never. I made a fool out of myself." And she wasn't thinking of the club, but it wasn't something she could share with her old friend. Not yet. Not till it was all over. And even then…

"He seemed very keen."

"A drunk witch was draped over him. Of course he was."

Ginny picked up her cup of tea and sipped it, watching Hermione over the delicate, bone china rim. The outrageously expensive tea set was another gift from Draco. "He knew who you were. He's a ministry envoy, in Spain, but he's back home now." She lifted a thin eyebrow. "Did I mention he was keen?"

Hermione laughed, something quick and sharp. "A war groupie?"

Her friend's eyes narrowed. "No, he appeared sincere. Very pretty too." She paused. "But why am I telling you this? You don't remember anything?"

She groaned. Was it going to get worse? What else had she done last night. "Was I a complete embarrassment?"

"You danced.  _Close_. Ron's eyes were out on stalks. You almost kissed…but then another couple collided with you. After that…you pulled away. Vanished, with a half-arsed message that you had to get home. Urgent business. Harry found you at the entrance, apparated you to your flat and came back to the club." She glared at Hermione. " _I_  got stuck with your wizard singing your praises for the rest of the night."

"He's not my wizard."

Ginny smirked. "He could be."

"No. Absolutely no."

"Snape is not happening, Hermione."

Hermione drew in a calming breath, denying the ache in her chest that'd been building since he'd vanished from her flat.

She'd shared the disaster of her one night with Severus with her. Ginny had always suspected a crush on Hermione's part…but never that she'd actually sleep with the wizard. Her friend often,  _often_  reminded her to go out, to find someone who  _did_  want her…but Hermione couldn't face that. Not now.

Ginny sighed. "Go back to bed, work can wait. We'll meet for lunch in the week."

Hermione twitched a smile, grateful that she hadn't pushed. She grabbed the bowl of owl treats. "It can. Thanks, Gin."

Flinging floo powder into the hearth, she called for her flat and spun back through the network. She half-tripped into her little sitting room –she never was graceful— and fell into her chair. Her head dropped back against the soft padding and she let out a slow breath.

An insane day. Crazy. And it was only just beginning.

She was married to Severus. Married that day, but they'd consummated the bond six months before. She groaned, long and slow. Even for all the strange and often outright bizarre magic she'd been witness to or cast, this was...unusual.

The pain on Severus' face hit her again and she pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes burning. She had to make this right. He had… He had someone he loved. Someone he loved enough to marry. After all he'd suffered he deserved happiness. And she'd been a bloody stupid know-it-all and burst in where she was  _not_  wanted.

Tears leaked. And he didn't want her, did he? She drew in a shuddering breath and held it, her throat tightening, her lips pressed together. She clamped her hand harder, fingertips digging into her cheeks to deny an escaping sob.

_He didn't want her._

She had to think that it was good, that now she had her closure. He'd made his thoughts plain. But it wasn't good. Nowhere near good. It fucking  _hurt_.

And she couldn't simply walk away, cry and eat chocolate till her skin broke out. No, she had to sever the connection that bound her to the wizard she ached for…and one who didn't want her—

Hermione jerked to her feet, a curse ripping from her. No. She was not going to wallow. She would wait for her Master's reply, and, presuming he didn't break her contract, she would head back to the Archives. She worked in the greatest resource of knowledge in the magical world. And if the way were there to sunder their bond, she would bloody well find it.

A clatter at the window cut into her internal rant. Methuselah. She flung open the sash and let the owl swoop in. He landed on the back of her chair and hooted disdainfully. Hermione offered him a rather large chunk of frog, which he snapped at, and finally presented his leg.

She put the owl treats on the table and turned away to read her letter. Let the glutton of an owl stuff himself.

Shaking fingers tugged the tight scroll open and she quickly scanned the spidered writing of her Master.

_By rights, Hermione Jean Granger, I should sunder all articles and agreements we made when I took you on as an apprentice. I am stunned that you would be so irresponsible as to perform an unknown and ancient spell, and under the influence of strong alcohol._

Her heart hammered and for a long moment, she closed her eyes. She breathed, willing the next paragraph not to say that was exactly what he was going to do. Working in the Ministerial Archives was her dream. Not simply a job, but something that had become as necessary as air.

_I should. But today that is not what I'm going to do._

_If this spell works the way that you and Professor Emeritus Snape believe it does –and I value his judgement at the moment over yours,_ Hermione Jean _— then you are seeing the start of something that had ended at New Year._

_This spell works with time. It's working backwards. In January, you were already married. And had been for six months. I believe you cast the betrothal spell last night, because to the enchantment, your…connection to Professor Emeritus Snape was an open loop needing to be closed. The spells temporal path is not our own._

_Therefore I cannot reprimand you. The spell was already in motion, began now, but fulfilled at New Year. It drove you to cast it. But…what was its catalyst?_

Hermione slumped into her chair, her hand at her throat, her breath short. Master Wyman was saying it wasn't her fault. She breathed, her eyes wet with tears, the well of panic that had almost drowned her easing back. She was still his apprentice…but he'd called her Hermione Jean. Twice.  _Never_  a good sign.

And her Master was right. What was the catalyst? Her cheeks warmed. She'd almost kissed another wizard. Was that enough? Severus…Severus could have done so much more. She closed her eyes against that pained thought.

But…if she was driven to cast it, was she, they also driven to consummate it? She pressed her hand to her mouth, horrified, sickened. No. That had been an act of free will. She'd  _always_  found Severus Snape fascinating…

She willed herself to look at the end of the later.

_Professor Emeritus Snape is quite correct in saying that this is a hard-forged marriage bond. From the little I saw of it before I passed it to you, the spell was meant to be. This is an enchantment performed on wizards who do not follow their duty, who have despoiled a worthy maiden. It will not be easily broken._

_Be in the Archives at nine sharp tomorrow. Bring Professor Emeritus Snape._

_The possibility is there that the spell will continue to complete –or has already completed- missing aspects its original creators determined. We must learn what other nasty little surprises this enchantment holds._

_Diogenes Wyman AM_

_Master of the Ministerial Archives_

Bring Snape.

How by Merlin's little green apples was she going to get Severus to agree to go with her?

She dropped the letter on the table. Methuselah slid her a side glance as he choked back the last of the owl treats. "You're a proper Weasley, aren't you? There's nothing you like more than eating everything in sight."

The owl gave her a sharp hoot, gripped the bowl in viciously sharp talons and flapped his way out of the window.

Her mind pushed back to Severus. Sending him an owl was impersonal. A patronus? She had no guarantee who would be with him, or what he'd be doing. Her face flushed at that thought…and her sour mood dipped further. It gave her little comfort that she'd set in motion a fixed chain of events. It was a closed loop working back through time. She couldn't have owled him, contacted him and have it make any difference over the intervening months…but he, despite the power of this bloody spell, had managed to fall in love and propose. Whereas she,  _almost_  kissed a wizard and kicked the whole thing off.

She stared into her dead fire. How powerful must his ability to love be? It had brought down Voldemort. Circumvented this insane spell… And to be the  _focus_  of that incredible power…? What must  _that_  feel like?

Hermione shivered and pulled her mind away from the impossible.

Severus wanted the bond broken. Fire moved through her veins and she was on her feet, her breaths short, her mind sharp and focused. She had no other option, she to go to his home. She had to see him again.

* * *

Oh compelled much, Hermione? I wonder why...

 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

This fic is way more angsty than I'm used to, sorry about that... And Severus finally get's his POV

* * *

 

A cold wind blew of Loch of Skaill and Hermione shivered. A vast blue and cloud-skudded sky stretched out to the flat horizon, only the thin bands of yellow-green grass breaking its edge against the rippling loch.

To a muggle, the ruin on the edge of the road appeared to be nothing more than an old crofter's cottage, abandoned for centuries. The wards pressed that idea into her thoughts and she pushed them away. Gone, they revealed the stark series of pointed, grey towers and long halls of Rowle Hall. Tall, arched windows swallowed the sky. Everything was imposing and bleak.

The manor was Severus Snape to a tee.

Hermione rubbed her hands over the thin sleeves of her robes. London was basking in a heat wave, but she was hundreds of miles north on a tiny island blasted by sea winds. It was bloody freezing.

She wouldn't be long. She just had to let Severus know that her Master wanted a meeting with them first thing tomorrow. Then she could head back to the Ministry and put in her hours with the bloody spell that was turning her life upside down.

She huffed a sour breath. And when it was all over, she didn't have the solace of drowning her sorrows in something nasty and very,  _very_  alcoholic. She would take up Ginny's offer of chocolate. The witch always had a vast supply.

The wards of Rowle Hall brushed against her, tingling and almost familiar. For a moment, she closed her eyes. They felt like Severus.

"Mistress!" A house elf popped onto the flagstoned road that led up to the house. The little creature clapped its hands together. "You're here at last."

Hermione stared at the elf, her thoughts spinning. It could see the bond. "You were expecting me? Sorry, I don't know your name."

"Pippy, Mistress. The elves and the House have all been expecting you since the turn of the year." Pippy tugged at the front of her robe. "Come. The wind is fierce off the loch today. The kitchen is warm and we have tea and scones. Hot and fresh."

The wards were a warm, welcome wave against Hermione's chilled skin and she almost sighed. She focused. "I'm here to see, Sev— The Master."

"He left this morning, and is not yet returned. We expect him though. Very soon." The little elf beamed at her. "We have every type of jam." She gave a hard nod. "We do."

She should leave. She had no right to be in his house when he wasn't there…but what if his house elves knew something? Wasn't that worth her staying? She ignored the niggling little voice at the back of her skull. The one that said she wanted to play chatelaine, just for a little while. "Is there…is there any one staying at the castle now?"

Pippy frowned and her little pointed chin lifted. She sniffed. "Sometimes there is a  _she_ , but we have nothing to do with  _her_."

Hermione winced. The house-elves had rebelled against Severus' fiancée because of her. Shit.  _Shit_. "You may serve her." The words were bile in her mouth. Yet, it had to be. She would not see Severus' intended disrespected for the sake of an ancient enchantment.

Pippy's eyes narrowed and her long fingers reached for Hermione's hand. "We respect your binding, Mistress." She gave another sharp nod. "Come, to the tea and the scones and the jam. Lots of jam."

Hermione laughed and followed the elf into the Hall.

* * *

 

 

Severus pressed the heel of his hand to his chest and the fucking rune seared like a  _brand_  through the layers of wool and cotton to throb against his skin. It beat with his heart, slow and steady. A constant reminder that he was married. Married to Hermione  _bloody_  Granger.

"Severus?" Riva's fingers flitted over his, not touching, but stirring the cool air. She looked up at him, a polite smile lifting her lips. "Are you quite well?"

He twitched a smile back at the tall, elegant witch. "I'm fine, thank you. If you're ready we should return to the Hall."

Riva pouted and a little crease marred the smoothness of her forehead. "Must we? Your elves are contrary." She slipped behind her desk, gathering parchments from her latest meeting. Sunlight from the stained glass cast myriad colours in her perfectly coiffured white-blonde hair. She was flawlessly beautiful; he could never deny it.

He'd decided that he wanted a companion and if he were to have one, he'd secure one as perfect as he was ugly. His newfound wealth had opened up a whole raft of suitable witches. It truly was amazing what those piles of galleons changed about him. Suddenly he was the 'Most Eligible Wizard in Magical Britain. Hypocritical bastards.

"Rowle's house-elves are creatures of habit."

She lifted a pale eyebrow. "The sharp little creatures like you well enough."

He didn't want to get into another -not heated, Riva never got heated- polite discussion about his house elves. They hadn't taken to Riva at all. When he'd demanded an answer from Pippy, the old house elf had lifted her pointed chin and asked how he liked his jam. There was no reasoning with the beastly little things.

Severus pulled at the cuffs of his frock coat. It was a relief to be out of that hideous muggle suit-- "Shall I wait for you in the lobby?"

Riva gave him a distracted nod. "I need to work on the Zurich deal tonight. I'll gather the relevant papers." She glanced up at him. "How's your Gobbledegook? I need to practice."

"Sufficient." He gave a short bow --everything was always formal between then-- and left the room. He liked that definition. He always knew where he stood with Riva. Always.

They were once nodding acquaintances at conferences, dreary Ministry events or charity balls he found himself at on the tailcoats of the Malfoys. She was a distant cousin on his Great Uncle's side, Lucius had said as he gave Severus a narrowed look when the Potion Master had asked for a formal introduction in March.

Riva Malfoy was a cool witch, not given to excess. Calm. Effortlessly elegant and restrained. Perfect for him. He cared little that they hardly ever touched, that he had never kissed her. Her asking him to marry her had been a surprise...but then Riva had an exceptional head for business. She saw the profit in merging their two forming empires.

Lucius had dragged him into his study that Thursday morning, after he had told him of his engagement. His old friend had stared at him in quiet disbelief.

"She's so cold, Severus." He gave an elegant wave of his fine-boned hand. "I mean she's beautiful, of course. She's a Malfoy. But the only fire in her blood is for money." He snorted. "All right, another admirable trait." Lucius stopped and stared at him and his pale eyes filled with worry. "But not for you, old friend. You need a witch that takes you for who you were before you became the second richest wizard in Britain." He smirked. "After me."

Severus' mouth thinned. He hadn't expected an objection from Lucius. Not if it tied his wealth to the Malfoy name, however indirectly. "We suit."

"Suit?" Lucius paced before his walnut writing desk. Sparks of magic lifted the sheaves of parchment stacked neatly before a quill and silver ink pot. "You, Severus Tobias Snape, are a crabby, bitter, egocentric, posturing  _drama queen_."

Severus blinked, and words dried, but before he could lash out a riot of insults against his very ex-friend, Lucius continued.

"You have fire and passion and emotion in your veins, Severus. Riva is  _cold_. A rock would melt before she does. Why tie yourself to that?"

One memory beat in his head. As it had since January. As it did even as he stood in the clinically austere lobby of Riva's London townhouse.

Hermione had scurried into the bathroom...and not come out. He'd lain there in her still warm bed, hands clasped behind the back of his head, happy. So fucking  _happy_  it pained him to remember. A knife under his ribs would hurt less.

_I don't know what to do. Gods. I wish he would just_ go _._

Her demand had hit him and a wave of panic...all hers. More thoughts swirled, but he had heard enough. She regretted their night together, and it hollowed out his heart.

He thought she'd been a little drunk, but not enough to impair her judgement. And  _she'd_  approached  _him_. Given him her  _virginity_. He'd thought he meant something to her. That it wasn't simply sex, but...more.

He cursed himself. Of course a woman such as Hermione Granger wouldn't want  _him_. He'd been an itch she had to scratch. Could she not find a willing wizard to break her in? Or had she heard the rumours of his prowess?

She wanted him to go? He had. He'd scourified himself till his skin burned and applied the same cleansing to the bed. The sheets had smoked. Nothing remained. Nothing.

Then he'd put the witch from his mind. Or he'd tried. Around March, he decided that he wasn't missing her; he was missing companionship. And his courting of Riva began.

Severus rubbed at the rune on his chest again. Fuck, it was becoming a habit. Ancient magic had declared him lacking in his duty to a witch and bound him so hard to her it actually ached. She was his  _wife_.

He drew in a slow breath and ignored the dark little voice at the back of his mind. The one that said she was his. Forever. His. Completely.

Hermione had her own life. He'd seen the pictures in  _The Prophet_  of her weekend partying with her old school friends...and the young, handsome wizards who surged around her. She was practically in tears at the thought of being tied to him. Her, "I don't know what to do" had frozen him, sank him back into his old pain.

Riva Malfoy didn't bring him joy. But she  _never_  brought him pain.

No, Severus would not keep the binding to a witch who didn't want him.

* * *

And...I thought I'd get Hermione and Severus together...but Severus started to take over.

I promise, after this, I'm writing a fluffy one-shot before I go back to  _The Ribboned-Witch_. Bloody fictional characters making themselves miserable... *grr*


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

The crack of apparation faded around them and Riva's elegant hand slipped away from Severus' arm. She gave him a smooth smile, the stark light from the long lobby windows gilding her profile. Perfect. Elegant. And always immaculate. Severus had never once seen her with even one stray hair out of place.

The memory of Hermione opening her door that morning, her hair a snake's nest and one side of her face smeared with old make-up flashed across his thoughts. He should be filled with horror that she would think to answer her own front door in such a state and, it appeared, be intent on turning the air blue.

It should horrify him. The rune on his chest ached, a deepened throb and the heel of hand found it again. Rubbing it didn't help. At all. He should've been disgusted. But he wasn't. A swell of affection had risen him and he had to fight with everything he had  _not_  to cup her little face in his large hands and kiss her senseless.

The thrum in his chest filled him and echoed...in the wards. Severus frowned. What...?

"Tea, I think. In the small, south facing study." That little wrinkle appeared on Riva's brow, so alien on her flawless skin. "And can you tell your senior elf not to offer jam. I do not like jam."

A smile tugged at Severus' mouth, but he found no echo of it in his fiancée. "I will ask." He knew it would be futile. Pippy loved jam, and plied it to whomever —and whenever— she could. He doubted she would take any notice. If he overlooked her fruit preserve obsession she was a very good and loyal elf. And really, who was he, Severus Snape, to disallow a little eccentricity?

"You tell elves, Severus. You do not ask. They are creatures for our use, our service. Nothing more."

His wards flickered, hot and tight and it almost broke a groan from him. Were his wards rupturing? He'd stripped the place after he'd bought the Hall from the Ministry; obliterated every ward and spell the Rowle family had woven in and around the fabric of the medieval hall. Had he missed something?

And then he stared. His heart tightened. The rune scored into his chest flared in a golden rush of power. His knees almost buckled.

Hermione Granger stood in the archway that led to the kitchen, her hair sparking and her face a stark mask of anger.

* * *

Was that the sort of woman he favoured? A cruel, pureblood... _cow_?

Hermione clung to her righteous anger. Wrapped it around herself, to deny how ridiculously beautiful and elegant Severus' fiancée was and to fight back the hollow pain in her belly. She couldn't compete with such a woman. She really had no chance. None.

She found her voice. "Elves are sentient, magical creatures, perfectly capable of understanding requests, Miss...?"

A perfect, social smile touched the other witch's  _perfect_  lips. Again...cow. "Riva Malfoy."

Riva's even gaze dropped to Pippy, who hovered around Hermione's skirts. The witch's eyes were as blue as an artic iceflow and just as cold. Hermione fought a shiver.  _This_  was the woman Severus loved?

"You are muggle-born. You will not understand the intricacies of a relationship between a house-elf and her bonded family."

Riva's pale gaze flicked to Severus, calm and collected, before she fixed on Hermione again. "You are, of course, Hermione Granger. Though, why you are in my fiancée's home, is yet to be explained."

Hermione lifted her chin, the roiling anger and embarrassment still churning in her gut. Riva Malfoy –a  _Malfoy_?— was cool, pureblood perfection. She wanted to hate her. She  _did_  hate her. But  _she_  was Severus' choice. "I have business with Master Snape."

Riva lifted a thin, blonde eyebrow. "On a Sunday?"

"Why are you here, Miss Granger?"

The clipped edge to Severus' voice cut at her. She could almost feel the heated burn of the betrothal rune cut into his chest and her fingers itched to find it. He was only a few feet away... So close. But in the shafted light of the lobby, his tall, smooth elegance found a mirror in his chosen witch, his lithe darkness a reflection of her pale perfection.

Hermione pressed her lips together. Her throat was tight and tears threatened. Why had she dragged herself to this blighted place? Had she experienced the compulsion of the Entanglement Spell? Did it want her to hex the witch that stood between them and declare her interest in Severus? Her  _right_  to him?

Hermione almost snorted. Then the bloody interfering spell would be waiting till hell froze over. "My Master has requested your presence at the Archives tomorrow morning at nine."

Severus' eyes narrowed, before he turned his attention to his beautiful betrothed. "If you will excuse us for a moment?"

Riva glanced between them, her cold blue eyes revealing nothing. "I'll await you in your study." Her gaze flicked down to Pippy. "Tea, elf." She gave barely a nod to Hermione. "Miss Granger, a pleasure." And she was gone, leaving only a whisper of exquisite perfume in her wake.

Hermione closed her eyes. That was who he wanted. Cold and beautiful. What in Merlin's name had he ever seen in  _her_? Or was it an excess of alcohol blinding him…and his horror the very reason he had run from her the following morning?

"Miss Granger?"

The title stabbed at her. She shoved down the sour rushes of anger and disappointment, met his gaze and twitched a smile. She plucked the piece of parchment from her pocket. "I have Master Wyman's reply to my owl."

"I believe this would be better dealt with in a less public setting."

Severus waved her in the opposite direction taken by Riva Malfoy and her boots clacked against the intricately tiled floor. She held down a sigh. No gliding exit for her.

"Here."

They were in a light-walled passage, softly lit with flickering sconces. Severus opened a heavy door and it swung in on silent hinges to a little sitting room. North facing, it had already lost the day's light and dropped into comforting shadow.

Severus flicked a spell at the fireplace and flames burst from the coals to warm the room. Candles flared to life, warming the pale walls. The scents of polish and the thin threads of hickory smoke eased the panic in her veins.

It was a pretty little room and Hermione yanked herself back from imagining winter nights spent in the heavy, velvet chairs set before the fire. But it was too late. Her mind ran thick with a vision of them both. A book in hand, the slow turn of pages in the warm, easy silence, tea on the low table and her catching Severus' eye in a reminder that it was time for bed—

An aching knot twisted in her belly and she only twitched a smile as he ushered her to sit in one of those bloody chairs. She perched on the end, wanting the discomfort and handed her Master's letter to Severus.

He sank back into his chair and read, staring into the fire after. He tapped the parchment against his lips and she fought not to stare. The firelight gilded him, and the soft pout to his mouth was almost too tempting… "The catalyst?"

Her fingers laced tightly together. "Last night, I met someone."

Severus dark gaze cut to her, though she found an emptiness in his eyes that formed a hollow in her chest. HIs voice was cold whip. "Did I interrupt you after all, Miss Granger?"

She lifted her chin. He was the one with the  _fiancée_. "Not that it's any of your business, but he didn't come home with me."

He sneered. "What stopped you?"

A sudden stillness surrounded his question. Her heart thudded. A flash of something in his eyes said that he'd never meant to ask that question. Would he want to know? It would explain the rune burnt like a brand into his chest. And she could almost feel it, a fierce pulse under her own skin. Hot. Aching.

She scrubbed her hands over her face. Was the bloody thing compelling her to admit the truth to him? That she hadn't simply satisfied a school girl crush. There was no doubt Severus would find her confession an embarrassment, but they hardly moved in the same wizarding circles. Also, it was better to admit it now in this private little room, than in front of her Master in the morning.

"You did, Severus." She let out a long sigh. "You stopped me."

* * *

Let me know what you think :)

 


	8. Chapter 8

An update! Yay.

The next chapter might be a week or more as I have to get stuff written on  _Black Moon - Demon Mirror_  and promo two boxsets. *wince*

Anyway, this is a teensy bit M. Not much. ;-)

* * *

Severus stared at her. Pink touched his cheeks. "I…?"

Her throat ached and Hermione fixed her gaze on the polished table that separated them. The words burned on her tip of her tongue. She should deny them, but she was sure the spell was pushing out every dark secret she held.

"I want you." The confession was little more than a whisper. She looked up and found him still staring. His expression seemed…frozen. "I don't know why you left at New Year, but…I wished you hadn't." She snatched a tear from her cheek. "I know this is not something you wanted –want— to hear, Severus. You have Miss Malfoy. She's your future." She drew in a breath to ease the pain in her chest. "We will break this Merlin-awful spell and you will not hear from me again. I promise you." She worked a smile, even as another tear fell. "I would never deny you your happiness."

"You wanted me gone."

Pain pushed under those four words and Hermione grabbed at the wooden arm of the chair. Hope scorched through her. Brief. Disconcerting. She fought to find common sense. No.  _No_. He had moved on. Chosen another. And the pain of that sliced away any joy.

Her mind had been in chaos that distant January morning… She almost groaned. And no doubt one of the best legilimens left alive had picked out the worst from her thoughts. "I panicked. I'd never…" She huffed out a breath and gave him a wry smile. "You are my first and only morning after, Severus Snape. I didn't know what to do."

He winced -something dark moving through his gaze- before he rubbed at his chest with the heel of his hand.

The betrothal rune thrummed, she could feel it. Was it hurting him? Fuck, she was no better than Voldemort in branding his flesh. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Severus caught his fingers in his hair, fisting them and welcoming the pull of pain. It wasn't possible. He'd  _heard_  her. She wanted him out, had felt the hard push of emotion behind the thought…and his own insecurities had done the rest.

Was it some tease? Some game to taunt him now that she had bound him with the accursed mark that burned like fiendfyre in his chest? No. She was blunt and plain. She always had been. No sly and subtle twists for Hermione Granger. Another part of her confession smacked into him. He was her only morning after. All those damning photographs with her and a host of wizards –the ones, he finally admitted, that had stilled his hand in contacting her in those first few weeks— was the  _Daily Prophet_  doing what it did best. Piling on the lies.

He stared at his hands, knotted now on his lap, his skin made gold from the fire. The memory of Hermione's skin, smooth and untouched moved through his thoughts. The familiar pain jerked under his heart, twisting with the burning rune. Still the memory pushed, so sharp. He'd not dwelled on that night, but now…

The caress of his fingertips as he traced a slow, slow path down her bare spine, her skin hot and damp. The little shivers, echoes there of her recent, fierce orgasm. How she had arched into his touch. Had smiled at him, stroked and planted a chaste little kiss on the very tip of his hated nose.

Yes, it was time for him to face his own truths. They tugged at him. A fierce hook in his flesh. No doubt, another nasty compulsion from this thrice-damned spell, but in a way it was welcome. Hermione deserved the truth too.

"I have not touched her. My  _betrothed_." His smile was brief, crooked. "Riva asked me to marry her five days ago. I… I thought I needed a companion, but our...agreement, it's more a case of merger and acquisition." He drew in a breath. "Not love."

Hermione simply stared at him. She blinked. Her mouth opened. "The catalyst," was all she said.

He allowed that with a nod. "And your wizard compounded it."

"Not my wizard." A blush touched her cheeks. "Yes, I danced with him, a lot." Her blush deepened and her fingers picked at her robes before she met his gaze again. "But I wanted to find you in my bed, not him."

Severus closed his eyes. She wanted him. In her bed. To be  _happy_. Who'd ever thought of  _his_  happiness? Gods,  _was_  it more than great sex to her? And it'd been bloody wonderful. Sweet and delicious. He'd  _laughed_... Fuck, he couldn't remember a time when he'd laughed in bed.

The fiery ache in his chest was pushing for more. For him to admit the final truth. And he knew, knew, the fiendfyre would vanish if he did. Knew it. He didn't give one single fuck about the pain…but he was no coward. Yet, to his shame, he had been with this witch. And the spell that bound them would no longer allow it. It was almost a relief.

Severus held her gaze, resolute. Sure. "Hermione, forgive me, I should never have left you."

And in the next instant, he found himself with a lapful of crying witch.

* * *

Hermione pressed herself against him, her face to the sweet skin of his throat. His scent –warm and fresh, familiar, ached for— surrounded her and when his strong arms held her, his fingers brushing back her hair, her sobs deepened. He wanted her. And she was his. She couldn't help herself, she growled her need against his flesh. "Mine. You're mine, Severus Snape."

He huffed a laugh against her temple. "Bound and tethered."

Her fingers wormed through his layers to get to his bare skin, and the golden rune that marked him as hers. Her palm pressed to it. Magic surged around them, hot and sweet, binding their flesh, their souls into a fiercer union—

"Fuck..." The word was a low moan, drawn from her, and in a strained heartbeat, Severus' mouth found hers.

Gods…it was coming home. Sweet. Dark. The warm brush of his lips against hers and the hot swirl of binding magic that caught her breath and rocketed her pulse.

Her fingers threaded thought his silk-soft hair and he groaned, his hand tightening on her hip. He pulled her too him…  _Fuck_. A riot of pleasure burst though her flesh, her fingers contracting to fists, her teeth sinking into the firmness of his lip, and she wanted nothing more than to rock against him. Find joy. Find bliss.

She didn't care about the constriction of the uncomfortable chair, the tangle of her clothes, that  _he_  was wearing  _far too many_... He was  _hers_. Hers…

"How did I stay away…?"

His question burned against her mouth. "Don't…" She pressed sweet little butterfly kisses to his jaw until her teeth found the lobe of his ear. He hissed and little goosebumps ran over her skin. She ground herself against his hardness and sparks of need danced. Tormented. Merlin, she was so close. So close… "Don't ever leave me again."

"Hermione…"

She arched against him, caught, held, her thoughts, her flesh blown by pleasure. A cry broke from her. Her body shook…and she was in his arms. Held so tight it was almost painful. But it was him.  _Severus_. She sobbed and his soft whispers, his promises eased her tremors.

He brushed back the wild tangle of her hair and pressed a kiss to each damp eyelid. "My sweet, sweet girl."

Hermione drew in a long breath and a relieved smile lifted her lips. "I love you."

Severus smirked and brushed a thumb over her damp cheeks. "As you should."

She glared at him, but a thought struck her and she stiffened. She stroked over the mark still branding his skin in a rich, golden swirl. Severus chest lifted and her fingers curled away.

He caught her wrist and planted her palm firmly against their binding rune. "What…?"

Hermione winced. "Miss Malfoy. You are not free, Severus. Not fully."

He closed his eyes for a long second. When she met his gaze again, the core that was Severus Snape shone from him. Powerful. Sure. Unrelenting. Her heart twisted and the need to strip him, to claim him as want rioted through her thoughts, her flesh. He lifted an eyebrow, no doubt aware of her salacious need.

"I will let her down gently."

"Severus…"

His lips twitched. "What?"

* * *

I could have built on the tension, strung it out, had more misunderstandings...but pfft. I've been reading miserable fics again and my OTP is getting their HEA sooner than expected. *adds more pfft*

As ever let me know what you think! :)


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry for the lateness. I've started writing a steampunk. And that usually means reading 5 books for every 100 words. *sigh*

Anyway, there are two more chapters after this. The next one will be the smexxy, so it could be a couple of weeks in the writing. :)

* * *

Hermione ran a quick spell over her clothes, wanting to take out the worst of the creases. The mirror over the fireplace displayed the shock of her hair. She let out a low sigh. Orcadian winds and Severus Snape's fingers had inflicted irreparable damage on her already wild curls.

Severus dropped a kiss to her forehead. "I should not want you with any other style."

She glared at him and he had the temerity to smirk. She scrubbed her hands over her face. "She is so…"

"It is a…cold perfection. Lucius tried to offer a warning and I will have to suffer his smugness. He pointed out Riva was not right for me." His eyes softened. "And she is not you. You," he tucked a wild strand behind her ear and his twitch of a smile was almost gentle, " _you_  are  _absolute_  perfection."

A breath caught him, lifting his chest and he blinked. Her hand pressed instinctively to his chest, and even through the layers of silk and wool, his betrothal rune thrummed. Sweet and sure.

"I was just…rewarded for being courteous to my witch."

Hermione bit her lip to deny her bright grin. "An interesting consequence with which we should…experiment?" She lifted her eyebrow in an attempt to mimic him.

His lips pursed. "Your delivery needs work, Miss Granger." His finger stroked the curve of her eyebrow. "And more effort needs to be applied here. I give you an…Acceptable."

She growled at him. "Hardly rewarding yourself, Master Snape."

"I would prefer," his mouth dipped to her ear, his warm lips brushing the shell, "that I…compliment you in the privacy of my very large bed. With the many-varied instruments at my disposable. One of which is this voice. Would that not be preferable, Miss Granger?"

Hermione almost swayed. He was a devil, a very demon sent to torment her…and she'd happily rush to damn herself. She wet parched lips. It was an echo of New Year's Eve and their shadowy little corner. Her heart twisted, aching for that moment, when there had been no pain. No separation and doubt. But he was hers…  _Hers_ , now. He had her mark golden-scored into his chest. "That would be…lovely."

Severus' mouth curved against her skin and she sucked in a breath. His pause strained her nerves, before he whispered, "Should you also be bound and tethered?"

She squeaked and his low laughter rippled a quick pleasure through her flesh. "I…"

He drew back and the room rushed at her, light and scent dizzying her thoughts. She clutched at his arm and he smirked, but there was affection in his dark eyes. It hollowed her chest.

Severus stroked a finger down her cheek and played a line across her chin. "Let us clear the path before I draw all reason from you."

Her eyes fluttered shut. It really wasn't fair that he would say such things in so correct a manner and in  _that_  voice and have her knicker-soakingly ready to jump him. And then deny her. Git.

Severus took her hand and drew her from the small sitting room.

Sunlight shafted through the shadows and the open hall…welcomed her. She could feel it, the wards and something more brushing against her skin, her thoughts. It pulled a smile from her and Severus lifted an eyebrow.

"The Hall likes me."

"I'd noticed. It's like an overeager crup."

"I like crups." She grinned at him and patted the ornate scrollwork on the doorframe through which they passed. The wards thrummed and Severus swore under his breath. Her laughter echoed along the candlelit passage.

All too soon, he stopped outside another darkwood door. He lifted her chin in gentle fingers and dipped his mouth to hers. The ghost of a kiss touched her lips, his breath sweet and warm. Hermione's heart swelled, the old ache vanishing under his touch.

"I love you."

The words burned, scorched and Hermione made a strange sort of undignified squeak that drew yet another rumble of soft laughter from Severus. "That I almost, very nearly silenced you." His lips brushed hers again and she licked them, chasing his taste. "I must try harder."

"Harder. Yes."

His smirk was purely carnal. "And where are your thoughts  _now_ , Miss Granger?"

She glared at him. "Evil man."

He allowed it with a slow incline of his head. "Of course." He straightened and eased back from her. "Now we bait the dragon in her den."

"Your den."

He said nothing and opened the door to a golden, sunlit room. Books lined every inch from floor to ceiling. A great mahogany desk was set before mullioned windows and on the nearby wall, an arched fireplace crackled with a newly lit fire.

Riva sat in the desk's highback leather chair, facing away from the window. Tea things littered the surface of the table-top in between neat stacks of parchment. Pippy stood beside her, wringing her long, gnarled hands. Her ears were flat.

"But She, She should be wanting it. The finest Scottish strawberries, grown in the Hall's good soil, made with a recipe passed down through generations of Pippy's family. She—"

"For the final time—" Riva caught herself, the hard edge slipping from her voice. Hermione bit down a smile. Pippy did so love her jam. She was a  _good_  elf. "I do not require jam. Tea will suffice."

"Just a spoonful, She." Pippy's ears gave a hopeful prick upwards. "With the lightest of scones. It's no trouble—"

"Severus!" His name came out quick and hot, before her glacial gaze moved onto Hermione. Her lips pressed together. Just a faction. But it was there, and on a witch such as Riva Malfoy, it counted as a full-on scowl. "Miss Granger."

Hermione's smile was bright and genuine. "Miss Malfoy."

"Pippy, could you return to the kitchen, please?" Severus nodded to the little elf. "We'll take a light lunch in the small dining hall."

Pippy bobbed her head, her luminous eyes flicking from him to Hermione. She beamed, her little face crinkling. "Good. Good. As master wishes. And I have the  _special_  jam. I has saved it. Yes." And with faint crack she was gone.

"Really?" Riva shook her head. "She must go, Severus."

He bid Hermione sit in the plush chair warming at the fire, whilst he took the leather chair before the desk. Riva stilled and Hermione's gut squeezed tight. Only moments in her company, and Hermione was already too aware of how formidable a witch Riva Malfoy was. And Severus was about to scramble her no doubt well-made plans.

"What do you want?"

Riva lifted a thin, blonde eyebrow at Severus' blunt opening. He was not treating her as a fool, but it was a very unSlytherin why to start a deal.

The blonde witch tilted her head. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "What is she worth?"

Severus sat back in his chair and crossed his long legs. He was the very picture of urbane calm. "What price breaks our engagement?"

Riva's pale eyes gleamed and Hermione was sure it was avarice that put the hint of pink in her cheeks, not distress at a lost love. "Is she worth everything to you, Severus Snape? You house, your company." Her smile was sly. "Your very  _name_?"

Hermione gasped and she was already out of her chair, wand in hand, to hex the bitch into next week. How dare she believe, for one single second, that she'd take so much from  _her_  husband—

Severus put up his hand and Hermione, reluctantly, slumped back into her chair. He couldn't give up everything, just for her. And the engagement was hardly legal…but would Riva drag him through the press with news of his  _attempted_  bigamy? It almost made her head spin, as entangled as the spell that had got them into this trouble in the first place.

He lifted an eyebrow, his expression calm, unruffled. "We have taken tea together, Riva. Discussed and pondered so  _many_  things."

Riva Malfoy was a statue, so still Hermione doubted she was breathing. Was that a threat Severus had issued? What did he know about the cool, sharp witch?

Her eyes narrowed briefly. "Yes,  _many_  things."

And there, she knew Severus' secrets. Hermione ignored the little hard twist in her belly. There was no need for jealousy. Not now.

He tapped his finger to his lips."I will agree to one thing and the matter will be closed. Never to be discussed again, in any form, to anyone." He paused, his dark eyes fixed on the blonde witch. "My hangover potion."

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth to stop her need to shout, 'No!'. His excellent potion was worth millions.  _Millions_. It had made his name. Made his fortune. Finally cemented his good name in their world. There wasn't one witch or wizard that didn't praise Severus Snape the morning after a hard night.

Hermione glared at the smug witch—and even though her expression hadn't changed—Hermione knew she was bloody  _smug_  about that offer. Cow. Complete and utter cow.

"The deal is…fair." Riva coated the word with an undercurrent of distaste. As if she wasn't about to bite his hand off. "I agree. Your recipe for my sole use. You will stop manufacture and hand over all current stock to me. I will re-label and rebrand – with the proviso that it has your mark on it, clearly printed." Her lips pinched. "Your name is your own." She lifted her eyebrow. "Your wand on it, Severus."

He waited through too many of Hermione's panicked heartbeats. How was he so bloody  _calm_? He uncrossed his legs and straightened. "Only that proviso on stock from my brewery. Once you begin anew, you cannot claim my mark on the newly branded stock."

A frown marred her forehead. Her lips grew thinner. But she could not give up such a lucrative deal. "Agreed."

Magic flared between them, sealing their pact. Riva rose, Severus following, and she piled her sheaves of parchment together. She shrank them, slipped them into a discreet pocket in her robes and walked around the desk to stand before him. She moved uncomfortably close to him. Uncomfortable to Hermione, whose wand had again slipped into her hand.

Riva's fingers almost,  _almost_  brushed his chest and the bite of their binding spell fired through Hermione. She bit down on a growl. Riva tilted her head up, her profile chillingly perfect. "She will bring nothing to you, Severus. You're throwing away untold riches."

"I am rich enough."

Riva's long, pale fingers traced the air above his jaw, a dark, crafty smile tilting her lips. "You always thought me cold, Severus. Once we were married, I would have shown you my other side. The dark,  _dark_  depths. Untold delights..." Her index finger drew a line of air above his lips, which only made Severus lift a bemused eyebrow, and inched higher—

Hermione snatched the witch's hand away, her fingers a fierce band around Riva's so-delicate wrist. Riva gasped, stumbling back. Shock burst across her serene features. Was she expecting something less  _muggle_?

Hermione heart pounded, the wild rush of adrenaline swirling her thoughts. It was insanity, but the surge of anger at the thought of another witch touching Severus' nose—

She snapped her hand away before she blurted that embarrassing fact out. "Please, leave, Miss Malfoy." A flick of her wand opened the door to the study.

Riva's mouth turned down at the corners. "You're a  _fool_ , Severus Snape." With a snap of her robes she stalked from the study and disappeared into the shadows.

The door thunked shut behind her and Hermione turned to her husband.

Severus yelped at the hard hand that hit his arm. "I will not be slapped, witch." He grabbed Hermione and pulled her into strong arms. "What are you about?"

"You gave up your work!" Hermione pressed her face to his chest and breathed him in, willing her heart to calm. She loved him for it. But he shouldn't have given that foul witch one brass knut.

"You are worth that and more." He stroked back the wild tangle of her hair and pressed a kiss to her nose. His voice was soft, sure. "I would have given her everything for you…but, you like this house, and its elves, and I have to have some way to support myself." His grin was sly and wicked. "And if she had my name, how could by sweet little witchling cry it out in ecstasy?"

Her mouth dried, and she simply stared at him. Her thoughts cleared. "But that potion…"

"…Is one of many." He brushed a kiss across her parted lips. "Yes, it is popular. It sells very well. However, I am more than a single potion. I am not yet destitute."

Pippy appeared with a soft crack. "Lunch is ready." She grinned and gave a happy little shudder. "I have my  _special_  jam. Also She has left." Pippy shook her head. "She would be so much happier with a good dollop of jam in her life."

Severus smirked and Hermione caught the gleam of devilment in his dark eyes. "Yes, I do believe she would."

Pippy beamed at him and with another crack she was gone.

He pressed a light kiss to Hermione's lips. Taking her hand, he led the way out of the study. His smile was sharp in the shadows of the passageway. "Lunch, witch, and after I believe we should find  _something_  to entertain us."

* * *

This was a chapter that did  _not_  want to be written. Evil thing. Let me know what you think!


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